


Day 7: Paint Transfers (noun)

by fascinationex



Series: MEGASTAR-MAS 2020 [6]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Evil Marriage, M/M, Silly, Starscream knows what a fauxpology is and he's onto you, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, accidental marking, megastarmas 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:33:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28443972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fascinationex/pseuds/fascinationex
Summary: "Is that a hand print?" Skywarp asked—yelled. Bellowed, maybe. It was so loud that about seven other mechs turned to look.Starscream paused mid-step, one foot hovering in the air.What.
Relationships: Megatron/Starscream (Transformers)
Series: MEGASTAR-MAS 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072040
Comments: 6
Kudos: 81





	Day 7: Paint Transfers (noun)

The mess hall aboard the Nemesis was never empty. Decepticon ships had no recreation rooms, and no officers' mess: just one big hall, half filled with seating and tables. There were scorch marks on the walls that the cleaning drones couldn't get off, dents in the furniture, and splashes of fuel— _not_ the edible kind—that seemed to replenish themselves in perpetuity between cleaning cycles. 

The queues for the dispensers were irritatingly long at peak times, and tended to be subject to the whims of the officers present—or the whim of the biggest con, if no officer was. 

Starscream did not personally ever experience the irritation of waiting in line. He didn't usually fuel at peak times, but when he did, he liked to storm in, toss or shove mechanisms out of his way, and access the dispensers at his leisure. 

This morning, he emerged from the corridor and into the mess hall in a fair mood, and was pleased to see Swindle narrow his optics at him then make the clear and wise decision to wait for Starscream to get his energon. 

He could feel the small tug of his trine bonds, close enough that Skywarp and Thundercracker must have been in the room—a contrast to the vast but more distant pull of Megatron, a low constant hum in his spark, which he chose not to think about overmuch most days. Megatron might have been comfortable with expressing every sappy flare of affection he felt, but to Starscream the sheer sentiment seemed both mortifying and overwhelming on a regular basis. 

In fact, he thought darkly, last night had been about as much as he could ha— 

"Is that a hand print?" Skywarp asked—yelled. Bellowed, maybe. It was so loud that about seven other mechs turned to look. 

Starscream paused mid-step, one foot hovering in the air. 

_What._

But then, after an astrosecond’s pause for thought, he supposed he knew exactly _what_ , after all. 

_Was_ it a hand print? He couldn't see the backs of his own thighs—or his aft—which seemed to be where Skywarp was looking. Instead of answering, he ignored Skywarp entirely and finished collecting his fuel from the communal dispenser. 

It... Might have been a hand print. Megatron had clutched at him so hard he'd been _dented_ in places, solid armour crushed beneath his terrible grip. At the time, obviously, Starscream had howled for it, more, harder, again. He'd wanted quite badly to be held tight against Megatron's enormous, powerful frame and entirely overwhelmed. 

But— 

In the clear-sighted light of morning, he never much appreciated the sheer damage Megatron's big, crushing black hands could do to his finish. Or to the integrity of his armour. 

Starscream turned on one thruster heel. His red optics swept across the crowded room. Only a very few of the Decepticons were cowed by his stare, and none of them was Skywarp. 

… Even Thundercracker's shift away from Skywarp could not have been described as 'cowed'. More like 'retreating from the line of fire'. 

* * *

Back in his own slightly dusty quarters (which he had not yet been quite convinced to relinquish), Starscream was at leisure to inspect himself properly. Not only was there a huge paint transfer on Starscream's aft, it was painfully obvious that it matched Megatron's big hands. 

Now that Starscream was twisted in such a way as to actually see it in his own mirror, he did... distantly... remember Megatron slapping him. 

Megatron _had_ to have seen it when Starscream had gotten up from his berth. 

He hadn't said anything. 

Undoubtedly he _liked_ the idea of Starscream walking around in front of his subordinates, covered in Megatron's paint like some kind of _harlot_ —He exhaled a seething vent and scowled fiercely. 

Then he went to find Megatron.

* * *

"Yes," Megatron agreed, very shamelessly, when Starscream blew into the command centre and accused him of leaving a giant hand print on his aft on purpose. "Everyone knows to whom this belongs," he said, which might have been a little bit romantic in a _very stupid way_ if he wasn't groping Starscream's aft—again—while he said it. 

Starscream twisted his thumb back to break his grip, making him grunt softly. Then he smacked him on the arm. "I look ridiculous!" 

Infuriatingly, Megatron laughed at this. "Yes, but _that_ doesn't have anything to do with—" 

Starscream knew this was a stupid jab, intended to rile his temper for no reason other than that Megatron enjoyed it. It was nevertheless effective. He jerked away and then whirled on him, furious, optics dangerously bright. 

"If you don't like the way I look, you can suck your own spike for once!" he snarled, which wasn't even what he was mad about. But Megatron had successfully diverted him from the point. 

Megatron sighed, ceasing his efforts to reel Starscream back in and get his hands all over his plating again. As if that wasn't what had caused his _humiliation_ in the first place! 

"I recall you liked it just fine at the time," he reminded him.

Starscream's engine gave an angry growl in response, and Megatron pulled a face that looked _particularly stupid_ on him.

"Starscream," he started, in that tone that meant that he felt he was being very patient, usually reserved only for the occasions when he absolutely was not, "do you really think there's a single mechanism aboard this ship who _doesn't_ know we're fragging?" 

Only if they were fresh off the space bridge, and hadn't checked any of their datawork. But that wasn't the point _at all_. 

Starscream made a noise like a kettle boiling over, high and piqued. Then he whirled on one thruster and stormed right back out of the command centre again. 

* * *

Yes. All right. Starscream _had_ liked it at the time. Of course he had. 

He always liked these things in the moment. 

At the time, the stinging slap that had no doubt left such a mark had, predictably, _done things_ to his insides. He'd felt the jolt of it up his spine and all his internal cables had contracted. His valve had squeezed long and hard, rubbing all its nodes on Megatron's spike and making him wail. He could even recall how Megatron had made a thick, hot-oil noise against the flat of his wing, right through his clenched teeth as though he had been utterly overwhelmed by the sensation. 

The actual blow had been forgotten entirely in the thunder of their armour crashing together. 

He scowled furiously. 

That made it even _worse._

* * *

"I said sorry," Megatron reminded him, hours upon hours later, when it became apparent to even _his_ tiny, overclocked processor that Starscream wasn't going to let him lay hands on him again any time soon. 

Megatron had said sorry. He had said sorry in the only way Megatron ever said sorry: insincerely. 

He wasn't sorry he had left giant smears all over Starscream's pristine, high-contrast plating and hadn't mentioned them, of course. He was just annoyed that Starscream was mad about it, and he predictably wanted him to shut up and put out. 

Starscream, however, had let him into his quarters. 

He couldn't have stopped him if Megatron had been truly determined. Even had Starscream been able to devise a lock or a code that could keep him out, the door itself would never stand up to Megatron's might. 

But he hadn't really tried to keep him out, either. 

That was tantamount to admitting defeat in itself, he knew—and Megatron knew it too, from long practice at pushing Starscream's boundaries until they eventually gave way. 

"I heard you," he growled, not looking up. He was reading Soundwave's very boring report on a conversation the Autobots had allowed to leak, assessing it for validity and the likelihood of being bait. 

He refused to look at Megatron, even though he had arranged his enormous frame in an inviting sprawl on Starscream's berth. Looking over at him would only remind him of how good it would feel to get his own hands all over Megatron's thick plating. His spark's soft, persistent pulse told him exactly where Megatron was, just like it did with his trine. It was constant even when his own feelings were not. Stupid bond. 

"You're being recalcitrant," Megatron said. 

"I'm _being disinterested_. It might be nice not to have to clean the stains of your gargantuan hands off my plating when I wake up for once. There's the door." 

"Starscream," sighed Megatron. 

Starscream ignored him. 

" _Starscream_." 

Starscream ignored him, but even harder. 

Starscream was ignoring him so hard, in fact, focusing tightly on something about a human cybersecurity operation—how cute—that he did not immediately notice that the sound of Megatron moving was more than merely bored shifting. 

He yelped when Megatron grabbed him. "Megatron!" he squawked. 

Megatron's powerful arm flexed and, despite Starscream's thrashing, he tossed him effortlessly. Starscream landed heavily on the berth with a hard grinding noise from his startled fans. 

He did not manage to orient himself and get back up before Megatron was upon him. He aimed a kick at his stupid face, but Megatron caught his thruster. His fingers squeezed the plating until it creaked, and Starscream's traitorous interfacing system gave an interested throb. 

Megatron put one strong heavy hand on the newly-cleaned armour of his thigh, and kept the other wrapped around his ankle. 

He kissed the side of Starscream's thruster, then the ankle, then up along the transformation seam, leaving wet little marks that rapidly cooled in the open air. 

Starscream... did not smack his stupid helm. 

"I'm still mad at you," he said crossly. 

"I know. Let me make it up to you," purred Megatron. Starscream could feel the rumble of his heavy duty engine, slowly growing louder as his fuel cycled more rapidly. 

He might as well, Starscream thought. He could feel Megatron's vents on the inside of his thigh. 

Starscream sank back into the berth in the certain knowledge that there would be more transfers to clean off tomorrow. 

**Author's Note:**

> Me: and so, as you know, megatron and starscream were married--  
> anyway! welcome to day SEVEN (more than half way!), if you liked something about this fic please feel free to leave me a comment because I read and love all of them even if I have been overwhelmed by trying to select the next day's tags instead of actually responding to them, sorry >_>


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